


Clap twice if you’re alive; don’t clap yet if you’re undead

by babydragon7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, Humor, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson get a practice in an unusual clinic</p>
<p>John remembered the guideline: ‘tolerance, patience, regard to the alternative existence style.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is WIP, be warned! I can't believe I'm writing one, as I always hate when other lovely stories are not completed and I have to WAIT!
> 
> Un-betaed, so please me know if you see any mistakes.
> 
> Disclaimer: not mine, any of it, just some characters who belong to BBC and ACD I've used (and abused I'm afraid)

“This is basically it, John.”

Doctor Cullen was showing Dr. John H. Watson the rest of the clinic. It was rather small, just a small waiting room and a cabinet with attached bathroom. 

“Why are you leaving? Sure the job is somewhat unorthodox, but the hours are flexible and the pay is quite impressive.”

Plus John with his army pension and love for London figured he could sleep on the couch in the cabinet until he had enough to rent his own place.

“My dear Watson,” Doctor Cullen had a somewhat old-fashioned way to express himself. He looked good, his back straight, military posture and a hair-cut. They did not make men like that anymore. Cullen was really old-school.  
John found they had a lot in common. After all Doctor Cullen was also a war-hero, and had also invaded Afghanistan. Was it during the Great Game?

“I’m good at my job, but after 80 years on the position it gets quite predictable. The same folk, the same complains. But it may be challenging for a young man like yourself (John snorted, but covered it up with a cough, at 37 he did not consider himself anything close to young) with so much more to see, to experience, so many years to live…” the last words were said with something close to envy. 

“I’m afraid, Doctor Cullen I will be only good for another twenty.”

“You’ll do just fine, John. Just remember, we get all sorts around here. They did not have a human doctor for quite some time. Just be patient, my dear.”

John remembered the guideline: ‘tolerance, patience, regard to the alternative existence style.’ 

“Use my notes, and feel free to contact me if need arises. Remember, you’re now at the direct supervision of Sir Mycroft Holmes, the superintendant of Special Health department. He mentioned he may visit the clinic shortly, in next couple of years probably. So don’t forget to ask for special security number! Especially Mr. Scare is quite forgetful; I’ve reminded him twice already in last ten years. But I can’t really blame him. All this insurance nonsense is just a recent development. Those young politicians are at fault and their need to count and measure, to name, for all that’s unholy.

“Where are you heading?” John was quite curious.

“I will see some relatives in Prairie State. Have not seen them a while. Farewell, John.”


	2. Chapter 2

John was settling. His new job was mostly about preventive inspection. Most of his patients came to him to talk (and to see ‘new kid on the block’ so to speak). Few had any real problems: a broken wing, a missing tooth (John found out that the superglue was his best choice in latter case).

John had met DI Lestrade, who was with the force and came to ask for a rabies shot, and who had seemed a nice ‘non person’ indeed. John Watson was tolerant to a fault, but he sometimes struggled with an exact definition. While the precise guidelines by government were not yet developed and published, he was a bit confused how to refer to his patients even in private. ‘Undead’ could not be quite correct term. After all it applied to zombies and poltergeists at best, but what with the vampires and werewolves? And it did not sound too polite either. ‘Alternatively exiting non-persons’ seemed to be his best option; he added ‘origin’ to the questionnaire he was making all new patients fill out and was scribbling in there ‘vampire’, ‘zombie’ or in the case of Mr. Scare ‘as of yet self-unidentified.’

He was indeed quite peculiar. Close to giant in size, with self-attached head. It was bothering Mr. Scare a bit, he admitted, especially at night, while he was leaving it at the bedside table. 

“Hmm,” John knew that his predecessor had used local mice application, but he was a daring doctor, not afraid to experiment, which was always an advantage in those dealing with non-persons with an alternative life-style. “How do you feel about acupuncture?”

Mr. Scare was quite skeptical at first, but after two or three times his head was as good as new (well, maybe not quite as good as John had no idea how old Mr. Scare or his head actually were). And of course they had to use nails instead of needles.

Two months in the job John was content, or as close to content as he could be, still having some psychosomatic pain in his leg and a bit of nightmares. His psychiatrist – Ella – recommended John to get a blog. John was an overachiever so he got himself two. One – Doctor John Watson – read ‘nothing ever happens to me’; another belonged to ‘John Double V’ and was retelling the most amusing stories from his everyday practice. The second was definitely much more popular, but Ella only knew about the first one. 

So John was more than ‘fine’ and closer to ‘good’. He had realized why Doctor Cullen referred to his work as a bit boring. And that’s when Doctor Watson met Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

John heard some collision in the reception (it’s only a thin wall away from his cabinet). Molly was talking to someone, rambling something like “you don’t have an appointment”. He got momentarily distracted by checking his schedule and when he raised his head after ten seconds tops he saw a tall lean m… non-person in a very expensive coat standing two feet from his desk. And John definitely did not hear the door being opened! He hated when they did that, this ‘mysterious’ appearance act. That and all the jokes like ‘see you on the other side’ or ‘I’ve known him for AGES’.   
It got old.

“Well, this one is jolly good-looking at least” John thought.

“How can I help you” he said aloud. 

“Can I use your phone? I need to send a text” 

It was a first. But John shrugged and handed the phone, nothing had the capacity to surprise him anymore. Or so he thought before the vampire before him smiled a perfectly nice all-teeth-intact commercial worthy smile and asked:

“Afganistan or Iraq?”

“Afganistan actually. But how did you…”

“Easy. Obvious. Unimportant. Tan lines on your wrist, military hair-cut. Also Dr. Cullen mentioned he would love to give his practice to someone like him. Never would have thought it would be human, though. Where did he go, by the way?”

“To see his relatives in States.”

“Indeed. I heard they were in the movies. How dull.”

“Now, how can I help you? Or do you need to send another text?”

“No, just stopping by. I was informed I had to give you my special security details in case I ever need a medical. Stupid, really.”  
John was a bit tired of this patronizing ‘you not going to be here in 50 years, so I don’t know why I even bother’ talk. Why was he supposed to treat them with respect and patience and the lot never reciprocated? 

“Oh, you never know. I just had a patient last week, who had a severe rectal burn; he managed to acquire using a silver-covered dildo. So we may see each other again much sooner when we both want…”He paused, gave the attractive and infuriating dandy a once over and connected some dots… “Mr. Holmes.”

The latter looked for a moment like a magician, who had just performed his famous tricks with a white rabbit and all the kids had screamed: “We know this one! It’s easy!”

“Oh,” he seemed baffled for a short moment, but gathered himself “so you’ve met Mycroft when.”

John had indeed. He tried not to remember a visit from his superior in many details, instead concentrated on the way he twirled his umbrella. It was the least disturbing thing, really.

“Well, he mentioned I should let him now, if his brother Sherlock – I believe his words were ‘posh, arrogant git, who likes to pull people’s life stories out of sleeves of his Belstaff coat’ – ever stops by.”

Sherlock Holmes looked at him differently now. Like he was something new, something interesting and compelling. He looked at John like he was edible (and John thought uneasy when to him he probably was). 

“What else?”

“He also asked that I report to him anytime you visit and be sure to describe a problem in question most profoundly. I told him it was a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“So you refused?”

“So I’ve refused.”

Sherlock looked gleeful. “I see you want to know more about the ‘alternative existence’. We could meet and have a coffee someday, if that’s your drink of choice.”

John was tempted. He liked his clinic and he did some extra research in his free time. He actually went to a Museum Tavern just last night with Lestrade (disregarding the guidelines and regulations really) for a pint and a chat. And those books on his shelf Sherlock had probably noticed all have ridiculous titles like: “Life with zombie: live it or leave it”, “Dangers and dragons. It’s time to show your pet his place” and the worse (John is not sure what made him buy it in the first place) “You’re choice is dire (to be in love with vampire).”

But Sherlock was unsettling in all the pleasant and unpleasant ways. Right now they were almost on equal grounds, but he was not sure giving this attractive twat with lips, which looked succulent, (stop it, John), any more ammunition was wise. So he opted for a joke, not his best, mind you, one could even call it not politically correct. 

“It depends on your drink of choice. You’re not going to suck my blood, are you?”

“My dear Doctor, I would not dream of sucking your…blood.” In the time it took John to blink and to process the emphasis on ‘suck’, Sherlock had moved to the door and opened it. “Laters” he called before giving John a naughty wink and exiting the premises. 

 

At night, as he closed the clinic and headed for his couch, John took a minute to consider his life at the moment. He worked in the clinic with weird folk as patients (what would normal people call them? John wondered, ‘freaks’ probably), he had part-werewolf for a drink buddy and had been asked out by a vampire. But actually was not that bad: at least he a) had a job and steady income, b) had a mate, who likes rugby and stout, c) someone gorgeous found him attractive. That’s what Ella would probably call ‘positive thinking’!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soo this is turning to be a silly banter fic between John and Sherlock. If you were looking for some plot, don't wait up, it might never come((

Of course John did not intend to see the ‘git in the coat’ again before his retirement. But he was wrong, as Sherlock waited for him next day on the street and sided up to him all of the sudden as doctor decided to go out for a lunch.

“He was probably sitting in ambush somewhere,” John thought wryly.

“So” said Sherlock “There were you heading, my dear Watson?”

“Outside of the clinic, you can call me John” John said “I was heading to grab a sandwich and eat it in Regent’s park.”

“Why don’t I take you to lunch instead?” Sherlock was as smooth as… eh… very smooth thing? “The kind, which envelops you and smothers you quietly,” John thought. But attractive, very attractive.

“Look, I never said I would…”

“But you certainly thought you might. Don’t worry John you’ll be doing it for science? What could a bowl of pasta hurt?”

“You never know,” John thought resigned as he trailed a little ahead of Sherlock. “There was this song, something about silver hammer and John and bang bang.” He started to hum.

Suddenly Sherlock stopped and looked at him with reproach. “Really John, really? If I were to dispose of you, I certainly would not use a silver hammer!”

“How did you?” John was a bit humbled. He never heard vampires could read minds, but this Sherlock was pretty exceptional (not to mention his cheekbones were yummy).

“The song you were trying to hum right now. I’m not a huge expert in pop-culture, but I remember presenting Paul with a line for it. They changed it, originally it was ‘Bang bang Mycroft’s silver hammer came down upon her head.’

“Sherlock and “The Beatles” John thought and almost walked into a telephone booth.

“You’re quite distracting,” he complained.

“John, you have no idea” Sherlock was all blinding smile again and when (how did they get there?) they went inside a small restaurant. 

“Angelo!”

“Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise! I’ll bring a candle for you and your date.”

“I’m not his date, I’m his doctor.” John chirped. Now he had to keep calm and carry on. This was for research after all.

“And some wine, so the date will go smoother” Angelo winked and John stared after him.

“Is he?” he whispered to Sherlock.

“Half-dwarf? Yes. Does not like to talk about it. Anyway he took after his mother.”

They took a sit and Sherlock took his coat and scarf off. 

“Oh, the neck,” John thought.

“So” Sherlock said “What do you want to know about alternative life-style?”


	5. Chapter 5

Next day John was just in the process of taking of his yellow rain coat, when his mobile made a faint “beep” (The raincoat was necessary while he performed minor surgery on a mud-man. Somebody had cut the poor thing with a sharp shovel, and John was sewing him shut. Cue the slime and grime and dirt and the raincoat to protect his regular clothes).

It was a text signed Mycroft Holmes and it read “To anything my brother offers you, I strongly suggest you say ‘no’.

This was in John’s mind rather manipulative thing to do. Wasn’t Mycroft already aware, that to forbid Dr. Watson do something was equal to assure he did exactly that thing? So was it a bluff? A double bluff? Was the text sent to persuade John or warn him?

After yesterday John had some idea what the offer might be. They had some nice time and the food was quite decent (only Sherlock was not eating). John decided he was saving John for later, and Sherlock said he should stop fixating on the blood sucking so much.

“The way you rub your neck, is quite a giveaway. Do you happen to have a blood kink, doctor?”

“Apparently,” John thought “Together with voice kink and coat kink.”  
The interview with vampire went on (“nice blog entry title,” John contemplated). They talked a bit about the whole “alternative existence”. Sherlock found the topic boring.

“John, I would really prefer the term ‘minority.’ My thoughts are: there is nothing interesting about the lot of us in the slightest. The terminology and the intellectual tools to measure and describe our existence are just not developed well, that’s all. Say, I’m a vampire and I don’t stand garlic.   
How would you call it, were I regular person and it would be shrimp instead?”

“Food allergy?”

“Good, John, very good. See, we’re not that dissimilar after all. By the way some of us, the more anthropomorphic ones, as a rule also share some human DNA. So as you were wondering if the intercourse between us is at all possible. The answer is – certainly.”

John wanted to say that gay vampires were not his usual MO, but refrained. 

“If not for my job,” Sherlock continued “I’d be bored beyond death.”

“So what is it that you do?” Work was a good safe topic as far as John was concerned.

“Oh, I’m a consulting detective. Good job really. Competition is nil. I help Lestrade and his team when some alternative folk gets involved in one crime or another. And I also work with Lestrade and his other team with the Met sometimes. Lestrade says I embarrass him more often when there are living people involved, but how should I care? Regardless work is fun! I consider myself married to it.”

“Married to your work. It’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” John said and regretted it instantly as Sherlock gave him the most suggestive look and answered

“Dear John, while I’m flattered by your interest, I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions. I wasn’t proposing to you, I was merely propositioning you.”

In half an hour John got so hot and bothered, he started to experience a certain pain (probably was also psychosomatic just as the one in his leg) in his neither regions. But that’s when it was over all of the sudden.

John was just telling Sherlock how he met Molly. The poor thing (origin – Ghost, formerly working at morgue in St. Barth’s) experienced some heavy visibility problem. She was only partially visible (which admittedly was a bit of a problem). At that time she looked like a bits of see through body connected by nothing. So John decided to use some innovative treatment and made some amalgam pills. They have helped a great deal with balancing visibility and invisibility and Molly was back to norm and so grateful, she offered to work at the reception of the clinic.  
All of the sudden Sherlock jumped up, grabbed John by lapels, licked his bottom lip and exclaimed 

“Amazing, John! Your expertise had helped me to figure out an unusual theft. Amalgam! Ghosts! Glass! They went thought the looking glass! Need to run now, enjoy your coffee, the meal is on the house. Catch you later.” And he was gone in a flash.

John run out of the restaurant and to the nearest corner, but Sherlock was nowhere in sight. John was so angry; he went to the clinic directly and found out he forgot his cane only when he was back.

It was only yesterday. “Well,” John thought, unbuttoning his rain coat “if one were to apply fairly abused metaphor about life being a box full of candies, when Sherlock was without a doubt the biggest, tastiest chocolate with a bow on top, but as you put it in your mouth, your head was due to explode.” 

“Right,” John thought, “time to take my mind out of the gutter. It’s dark and wet over there. And…”

It was of course the time when door to his cabinet opened and Sherlock in flesh and that thing that vampires had in place of blood burst in. Molly tried to stop him with words, which had no effect whatsoever. Ghosts (alternatively non-existent non-persons) don’t possess much physical strength, do they?  
“Oh, John” Sherlock said, closing the door in Molly’s pale non-face, his eyes bellow John’s belt in an instance “Having happy thoughts?”

“Oh, now I’m screwed”, thought John

“Not yet, Sherlock said. “But the offer is still on the table. Or on the couch if you’re prefer.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one! small&silly. thank you all for kudos and comments!

“How can I help you?” John was a bit cross about being left behind and losing his cane, “I must admit I have never been abandoned by my date before.”

“So it was a date after all!” Sherlock beamed at him. «I came to deliver my sincere apologies and make an offer you would find hard to refuse.”

“Try me,” John muttered. He was going to resist the temptation. He was going to be as hard as… better not to go there. 

“I see that couch in the corner, while convenient, is not the best possible arrangement for you, this lower-back tension of yours needs to be taken care of” Sherlock came to plop down on the above mentioned couch.

“I have a flat-share in mind: underground barely five minutes away, two bedrooms, spacious living room and housekeeper, in denial, with artificial hip – in short, it’s perfect! So I was thinking: you become my companion and flat mate. I could probably use some assistance in both of my jobs. And you still get to keep the clinic, John. Some of your patients will just have to reschedule, but don’t worry, they have the time for that!”

“I don’t understand, Sherlock” John was baffled and of course the couch had made him cranky on occasion, but to share a flat with vampire? 

“Why would you want a human companion?” John always liked to know what he was getting into first. The awareness of consequences just helped making dangerous and immature decisions that much easier.

“Nonsense, John. I don’t want a human companion. I just want you! I find you very stimulating.”

“Right,” John thought “that was flattering. And bizarre. And mad. And possibly deadly.”

“I could be so very good for you, John. One evening in my humble company and your leg is right as rain! With me you get to experience firsthand the alternative existence you find so fascinating. Also I could help to correct the grammar in your blogs, it’s outrageous.”

“Well, I suppose, I could take a look at the flat”, John signed. 

“Great, good, great! Molly will lock the clinic. Take a gun and a taser. On the way we might need to stop first to investigate a curious murder case and there is a chance the were-tiger is involved. Later I’ll take you for Chinese and then help you to relieve some of your tension. I assure you’ll find me very experienced.”

And off they ran.

 

«The best thing about Sherlock Holmes,» John mused later, finding his way around things in 221 B, his limp as good as gone and ache in his body all together pleasant, «is that he always delivers.»

The END


End file.
